


Galactic Academy

by nightmare_kisser



Series: La Vie Boheme Universe [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmare_kisser/pseuds/nightmare_kisser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Kurt are cast in a musical independent film by some slightly insane visionary named Chuck. And with the first experience with the film, Dave realizes a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> The officialy, multi-chaptered sequel to La Vie Boheme. Instead of Kurt's POV, this one features Dave's.

_Bleep-bleep, bleep-bleep, bleep-blee –_

I roll over in bed and smack my alarm clock violently. I gradually open my eyes, rubbing at them, sighing through my nose gruffly. I prop myself up on one elbow and gaze down at the slender man lying beside me, half of the covers kicked away from his body. He's curled up on his side, milky porcelain skin alight in the crack of morning light leaking through the blinds.

I reach out a hand to gently stroke down his arm, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin as I do so. My hand slides back up, starting to rub his shoulder and neck, his skin smooth to the touch. "Hey, babe. Time to get up," I purr in his hear, my voice a little rough with sleep.

"Mnh," he half-hums, half-grunts. "I dun want to get up yet," he mumbles, yawning loudly.

"We have to, Kurt," I remind him, my hand grazing the length of his spine. I can feel a few vertebrae here and there beneath his skin, as well as the assuring thickness of muscle. "Our first day of filming is today."

For the past month now, we've been rehearsing for an independent film some guy named Chuck has been trying to create. He's Australian, with an accent and everything. He likes wearing baggy t-shirts of '70s rock bands. But his directing skills are impressive, just like his video-editing skills. And he has one damn fancy camera. He's pretty cool, and he acts like a fanboy whenever he hears Kurt or I sing.

"Oh… right," Kurt yawns, his words a little slurred. He flops onto his back, landing just an inch from me. His eyes open and he gazes up at me, his arms casually lying over his torso. "You excited?"

"Are you kidding?" I smile, propping my head up in my hand while my free hand fiddles with one of his on his chest. "It's been a dream of mine to be in a movie. This is only an independent film, but who knows? Maybe we'll get discovered as actors because of it. It's so lucky that I can't pass this up. I mean, what are the chances?"

Kurt laughs a little, leaning his head toward me to leave a peck on my neck. He sits up and cracks his back before turning to look at me. "You're so right. And on that note, I am fully awake, but in desperate need of a shower. I call dibs!" And he bolts out of bed.

"Oh no, you don't, Hummel," I grin playfully, chasing after him and grabbing him by the waist before he can reach the frame of the bathroom door. I swing him around and drop him on the opposite side while I slip into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. "You take forever in here! I'll be faster."

"Jerk!" he retorts, pounding a fist or a foot on the door. "Just for that, you have to make your own breakfast, because I'm eating all the rest of the cereal!"

Drat. He's got me there. But still, a victory is a victory, so I reap my rewards by stepping into the shower stall and turning on the water after discarding my pajama pants and boxers.

As soon as I'm out of the bathroom, my towel helping rid my ear of some water, Kurt is rushing right in. I ignore how he sends me an adorable dirty look, his lips pouty and his brows angry. But after about an hour he'll forget all about this and be himself again. We do this nearly every other day, stealing something from the other, such as a shower or the last cookie or something else silly that people often experience when living with someone.

After getting dressed, I head out into the kitchen and make myself a toasted English muffin with melted peanut butter on top. I chug a glass of milk, and by the time I'm ready to brush my teeth, Kurt is thankfully stepping out of the bathroom. He heads into the bedroom to dress, and it's simply our routine. I love every second of it. My life is whole, now, and I can't imagine it being like how it was before I re-met Kurt, or before he moved in.

" _Meerwow,_ " Figgles calls out, coming to weave between my ankles. I bend down and scoop him up, carrying him into the bedroom.

"Kitty tackle!" I say, tossing the cat gently into Kurt's awaiting arms. He laughs and hugs the animal to his chest.

"Good morning, Figgy," he coos, scratching the underside of the cat's chin. He glances up to look at me, and I can't help but admire how cute he is. Admittedly, one of the major reasons why I love Kurt so much is because his good looks never get old. He bats his eyes at me, smirking lightly. "And good morning to _you,_ Dave."

I grin. "No longer pissed at me for taking a shower first?"

"Water under the bridge," he replies, setting his pet down to lean forward and give me a kiss. He still tastes of breakfast, and it tastes funny when mixed with the toothpaste flavor in my mouth. "Mm. You taste minty-fresh," he says.

"And you taste like Cinnamon Toast Crunch," I smile, running a hand through his wet hair. He always looks so sexy when he doesn't have his hair all combed back and gelled. (Mind you, I like his hair anyway, but when it's messy or wet, it just reminds me that no one is perfect, as much as I like to think that Kurt embodies perfection itself.)

"Sorry," he says, and turns to grab his shirt and yank it over his head. I already miss seeing his bare skin, but I can deal with it. His shirt is pretty tight, and his sleeves are short, since it's muggy August in Chicago at the moment. "So," he says, "As soon as I do my hair, we can go." He touches the top of my head where my hair is its thickest, still damp from my own shower. "But shouldn't you do something to yours, Mister?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "What's wrong with it? It's usually like this."

He makes a sideways frown on his lips, his eyebrows puckered in the slightest. "I don't know. I would just like to see how else you could look. It's a natural curiosity."

I roll my eyes. "You read too many fashion and hair styling magazines," I remark facetiously (a word I picked up from the man in front of me). "Now go do your hair so that we can leave."

Sighing to himself, Kurt relents. "Okay, okay." He struts out of the room (my eyes lingering on his butt unashamedly) and heads into the bathroom.

I decide to watch something on TV. It can take up to twenty or thirty minutes for him to get his hair "just right."

When Kurt's nearly done, I refill the cat's dish for him while he gathers up his wallet. With one last glance in the mirror, he turns to me and announces, "And I'm officially ready. Let's go, shall we?"

"We shall," I answer, and as he trots over to me, I don't hesitate to take his proffered hand in mine. We lock up the apartment, head outside into the blazing sun, listening to the cicada cry together, a low buzz coming from who knows what trees in this concrete jungle.

There's a studio outside of one of the art colleges in nearly the heart of the city. Chuck should be waiting there with the rest of his cast, an entire space station set up on the inside by some of the college students he hired as special effect artists.

The plot of the story is surprisingly well thought-out. In Chuck's screenplay, Earth was devastated by overpopulation and a few live-shattering floods from rising ocean waters, since he believes that someday the polar ice caps will all melt from the hole in the Ozone layer making global warming. Anyway, the overpopulation and lack of places to live stirred a project with the futuristic science to build space stations the size of countries in space that orbit the Earth alongside the moon. People attend school there, get jobs there, and live otherwise normal lives… in space. But there are diseases that can spread up there due to the compact way of living, and so this group of child-prodigy high school students, according to Chuck, decides to formulate an experiment to find a cure.

It's all very clever, and in the mix, there are two main romantic couples that are trying to battle against the odds and levels of stress to stay together. The main couple, two "teens" (since most of the actors are like Kurt and I, in their early to mid-twenties) who are part of the genius group, are tragically daring to be separated, the girl of the two being selected for her smarts to go with a team to Mars to see if there's a possibility to move the stations there, eventually building a permanent colony on another planet to balance out the lack of room on Earth. Apparently, in this future Chuck created, Mars migrated closer to the sun once Mercury burned up and all of the planets literally shifted over one spot.

Yeah, I know. It's a little insane. But it makes for one helluva interesting part to play, because this girl has to leave, but it'll take years, and all she wants to do is help the guy she loves and all of the friends she cares about mend the sickness that wrecks people's bodies.

The other tragic romance couple is Kurt and I. Our couple is a little more in the background, but in this future, we're considered completely normal. Apparently, the overpopulation ended up _encouraging_ homosexuality so that people stop procreating and ultimately getting all these diseases and health problems at birth, since the gene pool is too stretched. It's so bizarre, because that oddly sounds probable. And that's why I'm growing used to this plotline, and fond of the part I have to play.

Kurt's character is named Christian (ironic, considering Kurt's religious beliefs, or lack thereof), but my character affectionately calls him Chris, the only person permitted to do so. Likewise, my character's name is Maximillian, but Christian fondly calls him Max. It's cute, how their relationship is based partly around their names/nicknames for each other. But it doesn't stop there. When I read it, I was laughing hysterically, because I found that Max used to be bullied as a child by Chris and his "friends" since Chris thought he was better than Max, and Max was this chubby, Japanese comic book-loving kid.

And it's so damn funny to me since, little does Chuck know, in real life, _I_ used to bully _Kurt,_ and now the roles are reversed and the situation made younger and under different circumstances, but still bullying all the same. My amusement knows no bounds when it comes to that little fact, since it both is ironic and makes me all the happier to know that, like Max and Chris in the film, Kurt and I were able to overlook our past and fall in love in spite of it.

The tragic part about our characters, however, is not that they can't be together because they're homosexual… but they can't be together because one of them is ill and dying. My character, actually. Max has one of those birth defects, the one that slowly develops with age and makes him sicker and sicker over time. That's why Kurt's character tries to get into the group of other high schoolers who are looking for cures. It's all so very complicated.

One cool little fun-fact about this, besides being a musical about separation, loss, and breaking free, is that all of the characters have no last names since in this future, heritage is moot since everybody is just about the same skin color and speaks just about the same language (English, naturally). It's weird and awesome at the same time to think, "What if, one day, all of the bloodlines mixed and we were one people again, like it was before the Tower of Babel in the Bible?"

Of course, such a future is scary to think about, because in Revelations, it states that when something like that happens, Christ is going to come again, signifying the Rapture.

(And I wish I didn't think about all of this religious crap while reading over and acting out the script of this film, but I can't help it. My mother's psychoanalysis of the Bible due to her overwhelming Catholicism has just about brainwashed me, drilling all of this info into my head.)

I wipe my musings from my head with a weak knock to my own head. I instead focus on what Chuck is saying as we approach him in the studio. He spots us, ceases giving a few orders to some art students, and smiles minutely.

"Hey, there's my favorite set of actors!" he teases, coming up to us. "Glad to see you here. To be honest, I keep waiting for everything to fall apart at any minute, like some actors canceling on the project or some artists not pulling through for me or something." Chuck shakes his head sadly before scratching at the short goatee on his chin. He claps his hand together. "So! I have one scene location all set up, and we can do a few more last-minute run-throughs before we actually start filming. Sound good? Good! Now let's go!" he remarks, immediately turning around and launching demands for his camera and extras and other actors.

He's just a bit neurotic and possibly A.D.D., but he's energetic and funny and honestly, I don't mind having Chuck as a director in the least. He's better than the pair from Rent, anyhow.

Kurt nudges me, grinning excitedly. "This is going to be amazing. I wonder how it'll look when it's all done?"

"I'm sure he'll give each of the actors a free DVD, since we're in it," I reply, also smiling. "And I bet it'll be epic. It sounds like an epic story, anyhow." I make a face. "I'm just glad that I don't have to die in it. They end up finding a cure in the end."

"Which is predictable, but nice; everyone loves a happy ending," Kurt replies.

I nod. "Yep. And I've got a feeling that how this film ends up going over with the public will also be a happy ending," I smirk cockily.

Kurt elbows me in the ribs, but it doesn't hurt very much. "Shut up, Dave. You're so full of it. And guess what? No one buys your bravado."

I lift my chin indignantly. "Says you. But I can still intimidate people, and I'm going to make sure the word about his film gets out, because not only could it be our big break, but it just _deserves_ it."

Kurt sighs, rolling his pretty blue eyes at me. He smiles right afterward, though, leaning his head on my shoulder for a second. "Idiot," he comments, but he doesn't mean anything by it.

And throughout the filming, all I can think about is how much Kurt impresses me sometimes, and how I could get used to this acting business, even if it means scraping for money in between gigs. It's just something I've come to love and accept as part of me. Just like Kurt. And, for once, I think my sexuality, too, since I'm proudly displaying it through another character, and I'm finding that it's not very hard to do. All of the little PDA is building up, and now I think I can be okay with any glares sent my way as long as it means I'll continue to have these moments and opportunities.


	2. Act II

"All right, boys, I need you to do me a favor. I'm sure you saw it in the script, but today we've got to film it. So are you ready for that big, dramatic moment at the climax of the film? Because I swear if you're not, I'll have to be forced to drastic measures," Chuck jokes.

"We've got it, Chuck; trust us," Kurt replies with a smirk. He knows all too well – just like I do – just how well we can perform this specific scene.

The climax of the movie is centered around the two main couples. The straight one… and ours. It actually stings like a harsh slap to the face or a prick in the chest to have to do this scene.

During the major moment of the movie, it flashes back and forth between the two couples (we have to film the scenes separately and then in post-production they splice the two together, overlapping them and changing between them) when they are going through their greatest tribulation. In the middle of the chaos of the girl leaving and my character nearly dying, there is a kiss scene.

For the straight couple, it's forward and tender and slow. The girl is drifting away due to the fake gravity failing on the spacecraft, and the guy has to leap to catch her and draw her in for a lengthy, sweet kiss.

Kurt's and my kiss, however, is a bit different.

My character Max is being rushed to a medical port on another part of the craft that doesn't have any gravity failure. He (me) is on a stretcher, lying down with a fever making him sweat and burn up to degrees a human should never reach. Chris (Kurt) is running alongside him, screaming that Max can't leave, can't leave, how can he leave when the cure is so close to being complete? Chris is on the brink of helping the others figure it out, so Max just can't die on him now.

And Max simply smiles, looking worn-out and sleepy, and reaches up as the stretchers pause, unable to unlock the airlock straight away due to the failures across the entire craft from a meteor shower that attacked the large ship and is headed for the Earth. And that's when –

"The most desperate, needy, pained kiss you can imagine occurs. Picture this: you're about to die, you think you're never going to see your love ever again, and so you force all your remaining strength into a single action, a seemingly last kiss, quick and passionate. Think that's possible?" Chuck described, idly striking his weird goatee.

Little did he know that such a kiss is nearly the exact same to the first one I ever gave Kurt, and later discovered the first he ever received from another guy. If that's how he counted first kisses, then it was the same for me, too. And because of that, it makes this acted kiss all the easier to do.

But I'm terrified to do it. To go back to that desperation and spontaneity is so… haunting. It brings me too sharply back to the past, to the one place I don't want to go. It would be better if Kurt were initiating such a kiss. It felt better when he did it at the skating rink, since I didn't have to expose all of my raw emotions. I was able to absorb them for once.

Not for this kiss, though. This one is on-screen, and deep and meaningful and tragic, and it makes me heart ache to have to do it. But I play it all tough, acting like it's no big deal.

Too bad Kurt can see straight through me.

"Dave, you look nervous about this," he murmurs quietly to me as Chuck turns and directs the straight couple. Like us, Chuck chose a pair that is actually dating. 'For better chemistry,' he told us.

I hate how both of them are right. I could probably do this if it wasn't Kurt. And yet at the same time, it would feel totally horribly wrong if it _weren't_ him.

I can't win.

"I'll be fine," I shrug, displacing Kurt's doubts. I offer a smile and my hand. "Let's go."

We go out on stage in costume – the spacecraft the students live/attend school on requires uniforms – and get in position. The make-up artists quickly apply some mist on my skin to make me look sweaty, and they help get Kurt worked up to cry on cue. And then it's light, camera, _action._

"No, Max, please… you can't do this to me! They must be mistaken! You can't be dying, you just can't –"

"Chris… it's okay. Just find the cure… so no more people have yet to suffer the same fate as me."

"But you don't deserve this, I do! I was the one who bullied you all those years, and somehow you forgave me; you're too wholesome to be one of the victims; it's just not right, it's just –" His head shaking, I realize how well Kurt is at producing tears and using his unsteady voice to his advantage while acting. His voice grows soft. "I'll find the cure. You won't die, because we're so close that I'll find it, I'll even go right now, just so that you don't leave me –"

"Shh, Chris," I murmur, and it feels strange to talk down someone hysterical while sounding as ill as I have to. Acting is strange in general, though. Strange… and fun. "Don't fret too much, you'll pop a blood vessel." And I'm not faking as I force a shaky smile. I know what's coming. "Just… lean in a little closer before you run off to find he cure, okay?"

"Yes, what is it?" Kurt returns, leaning over the stretchers as it slows its speed, and the doctors frantically try to unlock the airway to the sick bay.

I reach up and clamp my hand around the back of his neck, two fingers supporting the base of his head. And them I lean up and smash our lips together, and he makes a stifled sound of surprise before returning the kiss as wholeheartedly as I give it, pouring out all of the desperation and fear of separation as instructed, but secretly leaking out how I feel all the time. It's an on-going phobia of mine: someday losing Kurt to either someone else or by simply being no longer appealing to him. I want to keep him forever.

We film a few moments more, and then Chuck is shouting, "And… cut!" He applauds us. "Bravi, bravi!" he kisses two fingers and thrusts them into the air. "Magnifico!"

"I daresay he liked it," Kurt jokes, nudging me with his elbow and glancing over at me. But I must be showing something on my face, because Kurt does a double-take and murmurs, "Dave?" in a gentle tone.

"Hmm?"

"You… have a tear on your cheek." And to prove it, he reaches over and brushes his thumb against my face, and as soon as he does, I can feel the coolness of the liquid drying on my skin. He raises his fingers and shows them to me. "You almost never cry. What's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh. Maybe the role got the better of me," I say, shrugging. I jam my hands into my pockets. "It's nothing. Just one tear."

He quirks an eyebrow at me before folding his hands over his chest, pivoting to face me fully. Meanwhile, Chuck is moving over to another part of the set to film the straight couple's kiss scene. I let my eyes wander that way, pretending not to be very affected. But that kiss… it hurt me inside. It made me think about things I didn't want to brig to the foreground of my mind.

" _David Karfosky._ Don't give me that tough-guy act. It doesn't work on me, an you know that," Kurt retorts stubbornly. "We're done for the day, you know. We filmed all we had to today. So let's go home. But I still need to talk to you, Mister."

I groan, rolling my eyes. "You're so damn difficult."

"And you like it that way," he reminds, and I hate it when he's right.

.o0o.

The second we're back at our apartment, Kurt motions for me to sit down on the loveseat. He sets himself down on the opposite end of it, one leg bent in front of him so that he can face me easier. I lean forward, my forearms resting on my knees, my head drooped.

"Kurt, I don't want to do this," I sigh. "It's not important. I don't see why you're making a big deal out of it."

He relents, "Maybe so, but crying is so rare for you, Dave, that sometimes I wonder if your tear ducts have shriveled up and withered away, gone bone-dry ages ago. Hell, I even though you were incapable of crying when we were high schoolers; that is, until I heard you sniffling as you fled the locker room." Kurt smoothes his bangs with one hand before raking it over his scalp entirely. "Which begs the question: did kissing me like that bring back those conflicted memories?"

I grunt roughly. "I hate it when you know me that well," I say at length, lifting my head enough to peer over at him from beneath my lashes. "But it's true. I just… don't like going back there, and anything that reminds me of it makes me feel sick inside. How would you feel, if you hated your past self so much that you did everything to avoid it, and yet it kept coming out of nowhere to slap you in the face again?"

Kurt's expression softens lovingly, and he moves forward to cradle my head to his chest as he sinks into the couch cushion on his knees. "Oh, oh, oh," he murmurs, shaking his head. I partially return the embrace with a hand over one of his cooler ones. "Don't think like that, Dave, please. I can't believe you still beat yourself up like this! Didn't I say repeatedly that I forgive you? It's time you learn to forgive yourself, or else you're never going to get past this. And here I thought you had."

I laugh bitterly, breathily, sorrowfully. "I thought I had, too," I mutter into his shirt, and he smells so wonderful. I bury myself deeper, twisting to mirror him, until he's leaning onto me and my back is pressed against the armrest of the loveseat. I hide my face against his upper abdomen, and he idly strokes my hair as I slip my hands under his shirt. I'm vaguely glad that we were able to change out of those dumb uniforms before returning home. "I thought I was completely fixed. But it's awful, Kurt, because I know I'll always be just a little bit broken as long as my mother still despises me and as long as I occasionally break out into one of my miniature rages."

And as I sigh, my own breath hits me hotly in the face when it rebounds off of the fabric of his shirt. I wrap my arms around him tighter, pulling him into my lap. He straddles my thighs, probably gazing down at me, but only seeing the top of my head.

"David…" Kurt breathes, and hearing my name spoken like that is both divine and devastating at the same time.

Suddenly his mouth is at my ear, his cheek pressed to my cheek, and I can feel fresh tears between our touching skin. Why is he crying? He shouldn't cry. I used to love it in a sadistic way when I'd see him tear up in high school out of fear or pain; it made him look even more beautiful to me, and there was something satisfying about being the one to cause him so much emotion that he had to cry to let it out, something very un-manly.

But not anymore.

I hate seeing him cry now; it makes me feel guilty for how I felt back then, and even guiltier now, because even after trying to change and mostly succeeding, I still wind up being the source of his tears?

"Kurt, don't," I whisper, pulling him back to look him in the eyes. "You shouldn't worry about it. It's my little burden to bear, my tiny scrap of human stupidity to carry. You shouldn't be crying when that's the one thing I want to do right now."

He smiles through his tears, and it makes my heart skip a beat. "I'm crying because you won't, idiot," he replies. "I swear. You're just a stubborn old ox that doesn't know what to do with its own pain. You're supposed to share it with the person you love, you know. And let them help you get rid of it entirely."

Kurt leans down and kisses me, filling me with the light and warmth he holds deep inside of him, something I've always strived to have. I grip him roughly, pressing his lips harder against my own to make me replace the same kiss that still haunts me, the one I initiated and was rejected because of, the kiss that ruined me and brought me a step closer to completion without me even realizing it until later. That damn horrible, wonderful, ghost of a kiss that still creeps into my nightmares sometimes, a kiss that I fear I might have to invoke again the day Kurt tries to leave me, since once again, I feel the fear of such possibly happening.

Kurt sucks on my bottom lip and dips his tongue into my mouth, skimming the surfaces of the back of my teeth and over the roof of the cavern until his tongue laces with mine, and I can't help the hum that rumbles in the back of my throat.

Slipping out to kiss me with more vigor and aggression, I grip his hips and let him control me for a while, since Kurt seems to like it when I tone down my own testosterone for the teeny bit of his that isn't entirely smothered by his effeminate qualities.

His hands flatten against my pecs while his mouth goes to work against mine, our noses bumping on occasion, our teeth grazing skin here and there. He nips my upper lip, making me jolt beneath him, the surprise of the pleasure rushing to my lower belly. Kurt suddenly retracts, as if struck by static. He smiles coyly at me. "Dave, are you feeling any better now?" he asks, but he already knows the answer to this.

"Yes, much, in fact. Thank you."

"I like doing my job," he says, "So no thanks are needed. But if you _want_ to thank me, you could, you know, take me to the bedroom. All the drama from today is just too much; I need a little break from it. And you know how hot I get, kissing you like this."

Oh, yeah. I know all too well, and I grin mischievously. "Alright. But afterward, you have to teach me the Ancient Chinese Secret of forgiving myself, because I really don't know where to begin with that, and I don't want this to happen again. It's just _dumb._ At least, I _feel_ dumb."

He pushes me lightly as he climbs off of me. "Don't feel dumb; feel human. It's natural. But if I must, I suppose I can school you in the art of forgiveness. It's not that difficult, you know. You just have to breathe in, breathe out, and say firmly to yourself, 'What's done is done. I can't change the past. But hakuna matata. I need to stop worrying about it, because I forgive myself.'"

I stand up, following him as he recites this with perfectly cheesy acting as he walks backward down the hallway. Figgles traipses by, meowing at us, before leaping into the kitchen to find his food. I chuckle a little and nod. "Okay, okay. I get it. Now stop killing the mood," I say, entering the bedroom and closing the door behind me. "I still have to thank you properly."

Kurt simply sighs contentedly in response as he falls backward onto the bed. Then, as I hover over him, he remarks, "I'm glad we aren't needed for filming again for another two days; I wouldn't be able to focus tomorrow."

"Mm," I hum in agreement. I know how he feels. And then not much talking follows once I peel off his shirt and connect my lips to his chest, kissing my way down and down.…


	3. Act III

A singing session today. Recording, and then performing, mouthing all of the words while they play in the background. It's much, much different than singing live on stage. But I like it better; it makes it easier to move around without worrying about how my voice might break when my breathing patterns speeds up from all of the movement.

Kurt seems annoyed with it, though. He keeps going out of sync, because he can't remember the exact mouth movements he made when he recorded the song. But Chuck is patient, ceasing shooting here and there to give detailed instruction and kindly-spoken advice (and it BETTER be kindly spoken, because I like Chuck and all, he's a nice guy, but if he so much as makes Kurt feel bad about himself – let alone bring him to tears – I swear I will go ape-shit on our director's ass and tell him that both Kurt and I are quitting).

It takes a few strings of trial-and-error, but after a while everything is working out just fine. Hours pass, and pretty soon, it's time to be done for the day. Thank goodness this sci-fi shit doesn't require shooting outside; if it did, all of the lighting would have to be perfect all the time and we could never work as late or do as many retakes as we are able to now.

Exhausted, Kurt plops down on the park bench beside me, his feet automatically going up and laying in my lap. "Uhg, I'm beat. Can we eat out tonight? I don't feel like going home and cooking something."

I nod. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"…Anything but Mickey D's, though."

I laugh. "I know."

Kurt smiles lazily. "But this is fun. I like being part of a film. Even if it's not professional, it's close enough, and there are a lot of amazing, talented people involved. Like that girl, Liza; her art is amazing! It makes it look like we really are on a spacecraft! And Tom is amazing with editing the footage. I watched him working at the computer once while you were chatting it up with Chuck about ideas for Max."

"It's less stressful than I thought it would be," I admit as I prop my arms on the back of the bench, leaning back further. "It could be cause this _isn't_ some Hollywood production, but it might also be because Chuck is such a cool director. If he wasn't half as understanding and cooperative with his actors, there'd be a lot more stress going around."

"Amen to that," Kurt concurs, chuckling a bit. "But I think what makes it best is that I'll be able to see a recorded version of myself, to see how I act from a different point of view than my own. I can't wait for that film festival this is going to be shown at; we're obligated to go anyway, but I actually want to. I'm dying to, in fact," he remarks with a grin. "I want to see how people react to Chuck's literally outlandish idea, and the fact that we're gay in it."

"We're gay anyway," I snort in reply. My face falls. "But I see your point. And fuck, Kurt, I don't know if I want to have somebody say something negative after watching it. If I hear someone ridicule me or you, I might just lose it."

Kurt sits up and stares at me. "Dave…" he murmurs, "Are you still –"

"No, I'm fine about being out," I instantly say, cutting him off. "Except I know that if I hear one more damn remark that's remotely homophobic, I know I won't take it well. I'm defensive of my sexuality now, Kurt. And you know that I'm protective of you. So if something happens at that film festival…" I shake my head. "I don't know. I might just punch somebody's lights out."

My other half is silent for a while, his eyes searching me. I look away, but his hand guides my face back. "I understand, Dave. But you know you can't do that."

I rip my chin out of his hand and look down at my feet on the sidewalk. The park around us is eerily abandoned now that it's getting closer to dusk. "Why not? They would deserve it, wouldn't they? If they said something against what we are, I mean. I know I deserved to be punched until I bled back in high school; I was the worse kind of homophobe: the one that was a walking hypocrite." I mutter callously.

Kurt scoots closer, our legs bumping. "I know how you must feel, but you can't go around kicking the ass of every homophobe you meet. If people say something to us at the film festival, then we have to take it like a slushie to the face: be hurt, but take it in stride and wipe it off, because we're better than that. We don't have to retaliate. And besides, I don't want you to get arrested for battery or something," he teases.

I sigh, roughly scrubbing my scalp. I sit up straight again. "Yeah, okay. I'll try."

"That's all I ask," Kurt tells me, laying his hand on my shoulder. He stands up and turns to march down the sidewalk. I scramble off the bench to catch up to him.

"Where are we headed?" I question.

"To dinner, of course."

"…And where would that be?" I wonder aloud, raising a brow.

Kurt grins. "A little Thai-food place I know. You up for that?"

"Fuck yes, I am. I've been craving Asian food lately," I admit with a smile. I offer my arm, and Kurt takes it without a second thought.

His face turns serious, thoughtful. "You know… You've been getting so much better, Dave. You act like you don't notice the stares we sometimes get when we're together like this in public," and he gestures at our interlinked arms, "But I know you do. And I know they make you angry, but they used to make you ashamed, too. And yet now you're not. Now, you just act like it's normal to touch me in public, and you seem totally fine with being openly homosexual. And it makes me wonder: what brought on this full recovery from being homophobic?"

I don't hesitate. "You. And this movie we're doing in which gays are accepted and actually required for the human race to survive without being overcrowded. It made me feel like I shouldn't worry about hiding it anymore, because really, what's the worse that can happen?" I make a revolted, terrified facial expression. "Actually, I take that last question back. I know some people have been killed, or even tortured, for being homos. So I don't mean that. I just mean… what's the worse someone can do to _me_ , specifically? I can kick anyone's ass and I know it. So I figured, why not be comfortable with my sexuality? I have you, after all," I add, and it makes Kurt blush the tiniest bit.

"Well… I'm glad," he murmurs, smiling. "That's more progress than I ever thought possible from you."

"I think the same thing all the time," I laugh. "But having you helps. Without you, I don't think I'd be like this at all. Actually, I only tried out for Rent because I was trying to be true to my sexuality, to come to terms with it better." I frown. "Although I like Rent and just wanted a part for _something_ in general, so those are the other reasons why." I shrug. "My only reasons, really. Just those three things."

Kurt laughs weakly. "…I only tried out for Rent because I've always wanted to play as Angel. That's it. But I re-met you there, so I guess I was meant to be in that play, huh?" And his smile never ceases to amaze me with how bright and beautiful it is. "Oh!" he bursts out suddenly. "Turn this corner. We're almost there."

And the rest of the evening is spent chatting and laughing over sweet iced tea with cream, pad Thai noodles, and spring rolls.


	4. Act IV

"Again, Finn? How many times have you and Artie watched Scott Pilgrim Versus the World together?" I hear Kurt laugh in the other room, chatting idly on his cell phone with his stepbrother. "Don't you have the movies memorized by now? …Haha, of course you do. Why did I expect anything different?" He snorts a laugh. "Okay, well, while you two do that, Dave and I are going to take a trip to a film festival, listening to Adam Lambert in the car. Uh-huh. Yeah, talk to you soon, too. Uh-huh. Bye, Finny-boy!"

Ending the call, Kurt struts into the room, holding his phone in the air.

"I swear, that guy can ramble on for hours if it involves something he loves. Like video-game-and-comic-book-based movies followed by marathon rounds of each of the Halo games. And of course Artie is dragged into it all, because he's even more of a nerd for that stuff than Finn is." He shakes his head at their silliness and smiles. "So. Are you ready to go?"

I nod. Standing from the couch, I shut off the TV that I hadn't even been paying attention to in the first place. It was just tennis. Who cares about tennis? I grab my coat, and help Kurt slip into his. It's the Fall Film Festival, and I idly wonder if using the entire summer had been enough for Chuck to complete everything he wanted to. I also wonder how the entire fill will end up looking.

"Yup, all set." Quirk an eyebrow as we exit our apartment and lock the door behind us, I ask, "What was that about listening to Adam Lambert the entire ride?"

Kurt grins. "I have the urge to listen to him. Some of his older stuff, like 'Down The Rabbit Hole' or 'Fever.'"

I roll my eyes at him. "Whatever, Kurt. Play what you like. I'll be too busy driving anyhow."

As we head out to the car, Kurt poses, "Did you know that Adam Lambert didn't write or even intend to sing 'Fever?' It was a Lady Gaga song. Same thing with 'What D'ya Want From Me;' originally, that one was Pink's."

"Oh, really?" I hum idly. "Makes sense, then, why 'Fever' has that stuttering 'f-f-f-fever' and why he says 'he' in the beginning, as well as why there's random French in the song. That's very Gaga-like." And of course Kurt would know everything having to do with his teenage favorite female and gay male pop singers. I'd roll my eyes again if I weren't getting so heady from doing it so often around him from his shenanigans. "Where'd you find that out, anyway?"

"An interview with him for this dedication video about him back in 2010. I don't remember if it was E! Hollywood or not, though," he puzzles. Shrugging, he enters the elevator with me, and when the doors close, Kurt leans over and kisses me lightly on the cheek.

"What was that for?" I ask, smiling lopsidedly at him.

"Do I need a reason to kiss my lover?" he questions. He turns and faces the numbers naming each level we pass. "Besides, it's just because I feel so giddy right now. I can't wait to watch that movie. Not just because I'm in it, because I want to see how it all came together, including the parts we weren't in. And ohh, I do hope it goes over well. Chuck and everybody worked so hard on it, and my acting was fabulous if I do say so myself." He smirks, but his air of confidence isn't nearly as cocky as he sounds.

"I'm totally psyched, too," I return with a smile of my own. But I'm far less confident. "Do you think my acting was okay?"

"Dave, sweetheart, I don't think anyone could have done a better job than you," Kurt reassures me with his diva-attitude. He nudges me. "You've _got_ to stop doubting yourself. I never doubt you, so you shouldn't doubt yourself, either."

Yes, but you're no where near as flawed as I am, I want to say, but that's when I remember how Kurt taught me to forgive myself. So right as the elevator does open and we step out, I stop to inhale deeply, and then exhale slowly, thinking to myself, _No doubt. I'm good enough._ And then as Kurt looks back at me, pausing in his adorable little steps to ask if something's wrong, I grin at him and catch up to his side. "Nope. Everything is perfect."

He taps me with a finger. "No, Dave. Nothing is _ever_ perfect, because humans aren't perfect. But things can come close." And he winks.

"Well then, things are _near_ perfect," I correct myself, smiling. And soon we're out in the deliciously cool weather (I'm usually too hot, so falls and springs are perfect for me. Winter is too chilled for my tastes, though).

Once we're in my car, Kurt makes good on his promise to play some of Adam's early stuff. It amuses me, listening to Kurt try to keep up with Adam's range. Sadly, even with his magnificent voice, Kurt simply doesn't quite compare.

Breathless, Kurt turns down the music after a song. "Whew… I don't know how he does it! I don't have enough air in my lungs to hit and hold the notes he can."

"The man is inhuman," I reply wittily. "He must have been genetically altered to be the absolute best male singer of this generation."

Kurt laughs. "That sounds like something I would say."

"You must be rubbing off on me," I grin, always a fan of that phrase since it sounds highly sexual. "And I do so love it when you rub off on me."

"Shut up, David," Kurt giggles, pushing me softly enough not to disturb my driving. "Don't give me any ideas."

"But I like giving you ideas," I mutter, a smirk still playing on my lips. Kurt shoves me again, saying that I should really shut up now, because he can't be thinking dirty thoughts when we're wanted someplace.

When we arrive, the convention hall is packed. It's the same one they use for comic book conventions and other similar assemblies every year. This time, it's for the Fall Film Festival. There are people from all over the country here, and even a couple from outside the country, looking for independent films to re-release in their own country either dubbed or subtitled. It's so trippy seeing all of these people here, actors and directors and special effect artists and editors, all conjugating in the same place.

Kurt and I find some seats near Chuck and some of the other actors. There's a woman with purple-streaked sandy blonde hair and electric green eyes (are those contacts? They have to be, because no one should have eyes that color) under Chuck's arm. He spots us and introduces us, saying that the girl's name is Mindy, and she's his fiancée.

"Oh, you didn't tell us you were engaged, Chuck!" Kurt gushes. He asks for Mindy's hand, examining the ring. "Ohh, and it's such lovely ring, too! How'd he do it, Mindy? If you don't mind my asking. I just love romantic things."

Makes me wonder if _I_ should be more romantic sometime soon…

"Oh, he did it the Chuck way," Mindy says with a roll of her bright green eyes, laughing. She has a single dimple on one side, and there's a piercing in it. That would have to hurt, wouldn't it? She goes on, "He took me to a Chuck E. Cheese for gaming and cake to celebrate our three-year anniversary, and when he brought me a slice, the ring was perched on top of a puff of blue frosting, twinkling in the colorful lighting." She shakes her head. "Best. Date. Ever."

Chuck leans over to kiss her on the cheek. "You bet it was. We were able to be kids and then become adults all in the same night."

"Uh-huh," Mindy chuckles, and uses a black-painted fingernail to brush a lock of purple hair from her face. Chuck is artistically insane, and this chick is gothically artistic. They work together.

We sit down together, all in a row, and listen to people give small speeches and introductions of sorts before playing a film. Some are as short as a few minutes, animated, and then some are as long as Michael Jackson's Thriller, and then some are like ours, the length of a regular movie. There are breaks in between, for refreshments and using the restroom, and then an onslaught of nerves strike me.

Our movie is playing next, the second before last for the events of today.

I stiffen in anticipation. They announce the title of the film – _Galactic Academy_ – and list the director's name, and a few of the main actors' names – "Hear that, Dave? That's us!" Kurt sputters excitedly – and then the entire room is hushed as the projector screen fills with the opening credits and the images begins to roll in.

The entire time I'm watching, I'm hooked. It's completely different than being on the other side of the camera, only seeing what you are doing and occasionally hearing one or two of the scenes being acted elsewhere. It's different than reading the script. I know what's supposed to happen, but actually seeing it… it's better than I thought it'd be, and I initially thought it'd be pretty awesome.

Kurt is clutching my hand between us during the intense moments, and rubbing my hand with his thumb softly during the sweet ones. He smiles when there's a funny, clever line, and then pouts when a character does something stupid. I'm watching the movie, I really am, but Kurt's face is a bit distracting.

When I know the kissing scene is coming up, I start glancing around the room at the other members of the audience.

I can hear Kurt's voice (sounding off in pitch by a notch) on-screen, echoing throughout the room. _"But you don't deserve this, I do! I was the one who bullied you all those years, and somehow you forgave me; you're too wholesome to be one of the victims; it's just not right, it's just –"_

And then I reply to him, and I notice how weird I look at the angle on the screen, the camera peering down at me, but slightly diagonal, to the point where I look like I have a small double chin. I grimace and look away, back at everyone around us.

And that's when I hear someone in the row behind me lean over and mutter to the person beside them, "Good God, they're not going to _kiss_ , are they? I hate on-screen gay kisses. I can tolerate otherwise, but I mean, come _on._ Is the fagginess really necessary?"

I clench my fists and my shoulders and arms tense. I abruptly stand from my seat and storm out, headed for the bathroom. Second later, I hear Kurt scrambling to catch up with me. "Dave?" he says warily, jogging until he's breathless to keep up with my long strides. He touches my arm to stop me. I halt and pivot, not looking him in the eye. "You missed our kiss. It looked great, you know," he says quietly. He tilts his head to try and lock our eyes. "I heard it, too. I was sitting right next to you. You… can't let people get to you, Dave."

"I know. I _know,_ " I say sternly. "What d'ya think I'm doing out here? I had to leave, or else I wouldda punched out that guy!" I hiss.

"Dave, it's all right –"

"How did you ever stand it?" I murmur, trying to calm myself. "When I called you all those slurs and made fun of you? The most you did was yell at me! Why didn't you ever punch me out?"

"Because I knew you'd beat me twice as hard, and because you had your little jock lackies backing you up. But… I also knew that it wouldn't solve anything. I couldn't let me anger get the better of me." Kurt sighs and opens his arms. "Come here."

I step into his arms and give him a bear hug, because I need to crush out all of this aggression I have without being violent. And I need him to hold me together, lest I fall apart and burst back in there to curse out everybody who dares challenge what Kurt and I did for that movie. I nearly feel like bitching out Chuck as well, because him being a fan of controversy is the indirect reason for my anger right now. I inhale, sniffing, and Kurt's scent is enough to clear my head.

Exhaling, I release Kurt, and he offers me a smile. "Are you okay now? There's still the ending of the film we can watch."

I nod briskly. "Yeah, I think I'm okay. Let's head back."

Right before we open the door into the main hall again, I stop Kurt with a hand on his chest. He cocks his head. "Yes?"

"I just…" I stutter. "I mean… thanks. For everything you're always doing for me."

Kurt smiles. He reaches to touch my face, petting along my jaw. His index finger lightly strokes one of my beauty marks before touching my lips. As he hand falls, he says, "You're welcome. I do what I can to keep my boy in line," he jokes.

_Oh, I'll gladly stay in line if it means having you, Kurt,_ I'm tempted to say. But I bite my tongue. Romantic or not, now is not the time.

We slip back into our seats, Chuck sending us a worried, questioning glance before turning back to the movie. It's nearly finished, about fifteen minutes from it, and Chuck looks so proud of how it came out. I empathize, but at the same time, I'm terrified. I can feel eyes on me, whether they're actually looking at the real me or the Max-version of me on the screen.

The film ends, and the judges mark something down on a sheet, since there are awards for each category. We're hoping to win either the sci-fi first place or the first place for romance. Drama would work, too, but not comedy, despite all of the comedic elements Chuck slipped in with his dry sense of humor (if not a bit morbid sense of humor; during one scene, there's a villain of sorts who's out to sabotage the main characters because he thinks the illness is a good thing to cut down on the population; so when he dies, he says, "Hmm… my mom said it would end like this one day. I should've listened to her and became a child psychologist.").

Afterward, there's another break, and then the last film of the day plays. It's slightly longer than ours, and it's a Western of sorts that takes place in Brooklyn. I'm betting this director was probably inspired by Quentin Tarantino's movies: putting Western-like elements, even the music, into non-Western settings. It's pretty clever, actually. I like this one. And I silently congratulate the director for slipping in hints that one of the main girls used to date another girl. At least our film isn't the only one.

While walking out of the convention hall, headed for my car with Kurt on my arm, some elderly couple stops us. The man, liver-spotted but not decrepit, smiles with teeth that have to be dentures with how perfectly white and aligned they are.

"Hey, you two boys are from Galactic Academy, right? That was my wife's and my favorite! It reminded us of Star Trek. Give your director our regards, will you?" he says.

His wife nods her head, her dyed hair feathery soft as it brushes her face. "And I loved your acting. I could really feel your emotions; they were so real. Where did you boys learn to act? It was so professional, like acting was like when I was young. I'm surprised neither of you have been in any of those big blockbusters lately. You have such talent, and chemistry." She smiles as her watery blue eyes flicker down to our interlocked arms. "But I can see that wasn't an act, huh? Well, good for you! I always appreciated it when people like you are brave enough not to listen to the other old farts like ourselves who think it's so damn wrong."

Beside her, her husband is nodding wholeheartedly. "Well, you two boys have a nice evening! Hope to see you on the big screen someday."

They turn to leave, but the woman stops and touches Kurt's shoulder. "Sweetie, are you all right?"

I glance over and find silent tears streaming down his face. "Shit! Kurt, what's wrong?" I say, touching his face to wipe his tears.

"I… I've never had anyone say something like that to me before," he whispers. He looks the woman in the eyes. "What's your name?"

The woman smiles gently, her eyes crinkling. "Wendy."

"Wendy," Kurt repeats. He slips out of my grasp and grabs her bony, veiny hands. "Thank you. I've been openly gay my entire life, and I've always been mocked and harassed for it; glared at by adults, scorned by peers. But you… you break the mold, and I can't thank you enough for that. I think I really needed to hear that."

"Oh, my dear," she says softly, warmly, like a surrogate grand mother. She squeezes Kurt's hands, the tendons visibly moving under the skin of the back of her hands. "I know some people might have told you otherwise, but there are plenty of people out there who are the opposite of the sort you grew up with." Sniffling, Kurt nods, and the man leads Wendy away. She waves, wishing us well. She says just before she's out of earshot, "Besides, I can tell that you're in very good hands! Stick with that young man, deary!"

Kurt laughs with relief before turning to look at me, his eyes smiling. "I can tell. What she said touched you, too. You just aren't showing it."

It's true. "Yeah," I agree quietly. "I only hope that all we hear tonight is that one positive thing and nothing negative. I don't think I could control myself."

Kurt shakes his head 'no.' "I have a feeling that the people here, since they appreciate creativity, will be too polite to say anything hurtful to our faces. And as long as we don't hear them talking amongst themselves, I'm happy to imagine that no one is saying anything."

"For all we know, no one is saying anything," I shrug, trying to keep his cheerful mood. I give him a smile of my own. "Anyway, it's getting late. Let's go home."

"Definitely," my boy replies, his tears dried now.

And things are really looking up. I have a good feeling about the future, now, if only because of that little old lady, Wendy, and how happy she made Kurt feel.


	5. Act V

"Boys!" Chuck exclaims excitedly when he sees us on the third day of the film event. "You're not going to believe this: they decided to wrap up the rest of the films today and tally up the scores! We're going to find out who won first and second place for each of the categories! Ohh, I hope we win something! Even an honorable mention would be swell, but I'm in it to win it, baby! Wahoo!" he cheers, clutching his fiancée and twirling her about.

"Chuck, stop!" Mindy laughs. "Please, I'm getting dizzy!"

"Oh; sorry, babe," Chuck apologizes, laughing along with her. Chuck starts to hop-step away. "I gotta tell the others!"

Laughing, Kurt and I shake our heads at our crazy visionary of a director. Than man has serious issues. But he's pretty cool in spite of his A.D.D.-ish lack of sanity.

Over a speaker system, a man's voice rings out, "Attention please: the next film is about to start in five minutes. Those who wish to attend must make their way to the gathering hall now. Thank you."

"Come on, David!" Kurt says excitedly. He grabs me by the wrist and yanks me in the direction of the makeshift theatre. We whiz past people, one of them sending me a death glare, and I narrow my eyes in return, like, _Don't fuck with me just because I'm holding a guy's hand and you recognize me from the other day as a gay actor._ I'm just in too good of a mood to have it soiled by some dumbass.

Kurt drags me down a row of seats in the dead center, Chuck and his gal one row directly in front of us. Kurt leans forward and says something to Mindy, and then they both burst into wild giggling. I smile minutely at how cute he is.

The lights dim three minutes later, and a film starts. This one is animated, Japanese-anime style, but with a few distinct American differences that make it feel more like fakey-wannabe-anime instead of the real thing. The voices are pleasant and fitting, though, and the animation is very smooth. It's named after a Green Day song – _Wake Me Up When September Ends –_ and it's about forty minutes long.

The story is all about this girl who tries to commit suicide by diving off of the Empire State Building. But then this brunet angel with forest green steaks in his hair to match his eyes (which makes him quite sexy for a cartoon) swoops in and saves the girl. There are scars on his back from battles against demons, and his wings aren't white like I'd think, but instead are the same brown as his hair.

The angel and the human girl wind up falling in love, which is ironic and forbidden, since the girl had tried to kill herself due to a boyfriend she was in love with who died in a car crash one rainy night while chatting on the phone with her. She was all guilty and stuff, and said she'd never love again, and yadda yadda. But the anime predictable, and the girl falls for the angel anyhow. The chick is pretty, with big purple eyes and teal hair and always wearing purple or yellow. She blushes easily, a stereotypical anime-girl, and her boobs are unnaturally large. I kinda dislike how stupid she acts sometimes, though, all dramatic in all the wrong ways.

But her angelic boyfriend is epic-awesome. And his name – Kisuke – is badass, along with his attitude.

But it winds up being really sweet and mushy and by the end of it, I applaud. Kurt leans over and murmurs, "Okay, Dave. Now, I have very specific instructions for you: I need you to ditch your car, grow wings, and carry me bridal-style everywhere like Kisuke did for Minoru."

I snort, "Yeah right, Hummel. Dream on." And I wink at him, making him laugh. He elbows me before snuggling against my shoulder.

"I'm so glad we're here, Dave. I love being part of this." And he gestures around the room with one careless hand that soon falls to his armrest again. He sighs softly. "Do you think we'll win?"

"Of course we will," I say complacently. "Our film was too awesome not to get at least _something."_

He nods against me, expecting as much. "I thought the same."

.o0o.

"It's high time for some celebrating!" Chuck cheers as he decides to treat the entire cast and crew of Galactic Academy to dinner at some fancy-smancy restraint that makes me question how much money he won for us getting first place in the sci-fi genre and another award for second place in the controversial category. It's almost offensive, since we only got that second tacked-on title because Kurt and I were so opening gay in the movie, but whatever. We won two things instead of one, and now Chuck has been asked by some producer to get his independent film shown on a British TV channel that airs throughout the entire UK.

Chuck asks for a bottle of champagne, and pops the cork with a knife quite impressively. The foam splatters all over Kurt and I, since the two main couple of the film got the special seats beside Chuck and Mindy at the head of the table. Kurt is on Mindy's side, and the other actors are on Chuck's. Mindy squeals when the bubbly, stick liquid gets on her chest and face, but she's laughing. Chuck leans over and licks it off of her, making everybody else at the long, reserved table to gush, "Ooooooh!" like college kids. Some of which are, since Chuck nabbed them from the art college to use as special effect artists.

I wrap an arm around Kurt's shoulders, very sorely tempted to lick the bubbles off of him myself, but I know better. I'm sure the residue will still be there later.

Or not. "I'm going to go to the restroom," Kurt mutters, getting out of his chair and tapping Mindy and the female lead on the shoulders, asking if they, too, would like to clean up the mess on them. None of us guys care, though. But I guess the girls (and Kurt) like to keep their outfits clean. Whatever.

While they're gone, Chuck, the male lead, and I all chat it up about the looks on the judges' faces when they read the "verdict," and how it really did feel like we were in court.

"The atmosphere had been so _intense!"_ the male lead, Nick, says enthusiastically. "I mean, did you see the director for that other sci-fi film? He _knew_ ours was better, and he looked like a sweaty pig about to wet itself." And he cackles a laugh.

Chuck slaps him on the arm. "Stoofoo," Chuck says firmly, his way of saying the acronym, 'STFU,' otherwise known as, 'shut the fuck up.' "That's not very nice, Nick, my boy."

"I know, I know," Nick laughs, and he really is quite obnoxious, despite being a great actor and just as good a singer. "But still. He looked intimidated, especially since ours was a musical, which only made him all the paler in comparison."

Chuck smirks at that. "Yes, well. That's just me being a genius."

"I'm surprised we got a second mention for controversy instead of being a musical," Helena (pronounced 'hell-ay-nuh' and not 'hell-en-uh' as she repeatedly corrected me in the past), a sound technician, remarks. "I thought that other musical wasn't as well thought-out as the lyrics in ours."

"Yes, but with what else was going on in the story, the judges thought the singing was over-the-top," Chris, the inspiration for most of Kurt's character and a close friend of Chuck's (a classmate from film school, I think), comments dully. He's a bit emo, with black hair and guyliner and a deadpan expression half of the time, and emo isn't even cool anymore, like it was in the 2000's. "I know, 'cause I heard them talking."

Enter Kurt and the ladies out of nowhere, and immediately I'm back in the conversation instead of simply listening, because Kurt makes sure to ask me questions while he puts in his two-cents every now and then.

Halfway through the evening, our party starts to thin out as people get tired and drive home or to a hotel, depending. And Kurt and I stay nearly as long as Chuck and the other lead couple themselves; that is, until Kurt's hand worms its way to my inner thigh under the table and he leans sideways, turning his face to hide behind my head as he whispers sensually into my ear, "Dave, I want to go home now. I want to have our own little celebration."

I feel electric signals ignite in my body and send shivers down the length of my skin, putting the arms of my arms on end. "Sure," I reply as causally as possible. Kurt leans away, smirking, his hand giving my leg one last rub with his thumb prior to releasing me.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to calm down my already reacting body. Slowly, I grin unsurely and stand. "Well, it's been fun, Chuck, and I look forward to getting that DVD and paycheck, but for now, Kurt and I are going to head out."

"Okay~!" Chuck grins, leaping up and shaking both our hands. "See you two! I love your acting and singing. If I ever make another film I could use either or both of you in, I'll be sure to call!"

I chuckle. "Okay. See you, then. Bye to you, too, Mindy."

"Bye, David. And bye-bye, Kurt!" she adds, getting up to give Kurt a quick hug. How does he always manage to bond with every girl he meets?

While walking out, Kurt breathes in the nippy fall air, and I do the same, taking a breath of fresh air that doesn't smell like garlic, onions, and seasoned meat. Instead, I inhale the scents of crisp frost, leaves, car exhaust, and burning wood. I love the smell of fall. It reminds me of the apple pies my mom would make, and –

Huh. _Mom._ I… I really miss her, before her freak-out about me being gay. I just… I remember all of the good things about her, and now that another Thanksgiving without her is about to roll by, I'm feeling a little sick.

I ignore the sensation and hop into my car, Kurt slipping in on the other side. He starts humming 'Controversy' by Prince, evening jokingly singing parts of it. Grinning, he says, "You know, I'm quite proud of us for getting that second award. I hadn't expected it, and it amuses me that you and I and Chuck are the cause of it."

"Hn," I agree tonelessly. I still have mixed feelings about that topic. I shift and turn on the radio, The Fray filtering in through the speakers.

"Oh! Can you turn this up? I haven't heard this song in ages!" Kurt chirps, and so I do. I crank the volume until the base is thumping dully along with the song. Kurt starts singing along, but I can't hear him very well over the music.

I start to timidly join in, harmonizing with him and the leader singer of the band. Kurt glances over at me when he hears something else join the mix. He grins, lowers the volume enough to hear us sing together, and soon we're singing along with every song the station plays, since most of them are from our high school and college years.

And by the time we get home, Kurt is in a flirtatious mood, and honestly, I couldn't be more hyped up. I tag along behind him as he races to the elevator an then to our apartment, all the while glancing back at me and giving me that damn deliciously alluring smile of his, rosy lips and dimples and all, his eyebrows in just the right position to look suggestive. He does a twirl and flattens his back against our door, his legs crossed at the ankle and his hands behind his back.

Kurt peers up at me through his lashes. "I have a good feeling about us being aired in the UK next month," he murmurs, his hands latching onto the back of my neck as I pin him against our door right there in the corridor. He plants and feather-light kiss on the cleft of my chin. "I think we might make it big someday, if we play our cards right. What do you think?"

"I think you dream too much, babe," I say with all honesty. He pouts, but I'm soon lifting a hand under his chin and giving him a languid kiss. Parting from his lips, my eyes opening before his, I add, "But some dreams come true, so who knows?"

He smiles softly, exhaling through his nose as he drapes his arms over my back and kisses me repeatedly, some with hints of tongue, some with only his lips. Little kissing sounds fill my ears paired with the jingling of keys as I remove them from my coat pocket and attempt to unlock the door while still kissing my gorgeous lover.

After a bunch of fumbling, I get the door open, and since he had been leaning against it, Kurt stumbles backward, tugging me along with him. We bump into the couch, but not before I've kicked the door closed. Kurt breaks our kissing to turn back and lock the door before immediately returning to my awaiting arms.

I rub my hands up and down his back, my fingers coming around to slip the buttons of his pea coat from their holes, my hands snaking under the plush fabric to shimmy it off of Kurt's shoulders. It falls to the ground, and before I can realize where we are in the dark apartment, I'm falling over backward. I cry out in surprise, breaking another kiss, and Kurt stares down at me where I'm awkwardly splayed, spread-eagle, onto the loveseat. I had fallen over the back and landed with my head half-off of the seat cushions, my feet dangling over the top.

"Fuck, that hurt," I grumble, and with a chuckle Kurt comes around the side of the loveseat to help me up.

"You're silly and clumsy and I love you," Kurt says playfully.

"Tch," I scoff, "I'm not clumsy on the ice, and you know it. And as for 'silly'… only when I want to be," I mutter.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, David."

I frown, but realize that he had added 'I love you' at the end. I smile, and softly say as I reach out to touch his face in the dim light, "I love you, too."

I think Kurt and I have only been becoming more and more mushy and pathetic. I blame him and his naturally girly personality rubbing off on me. Or maybe I've always been sweet deep down. I don't know, nor do I care. I only care about the feeling of Kurt stripping me of my own coat before stroking down my chest with both hands, pausing to feel my muscles and nipples until he moves lower, his hands dropping to the rim of my dress slacks.

"Kurt," I breathe, "Exactly… what sort of 'personal celebration' did you have in mind?"

"The yummy kind," is all he gives as a reply. He unzips my pants, making me let out a startles curse word before hissing as his hands encircle my hips and drop all of the clothes I have below the waist.

I don't need to even _guess_ what he's about to do, right here in the living room. I know all too well.

And I plan on returning the favor as soon as he's done.

_Congrats to us,_ I think vaguely before Kurt's mouth connects with the skin below my belly button, kissing a trail where I've shaved, since hair only gets in the way. _For being such fucking awesome actors and… stuff…_ And my mind goes blank. Thanks a lot, Kurt. I try to roll my eyes at you, but you're just making them roll to the back of my head instead.

**.End.**


End file.
